Fuck. This had to be it. Had to be.
And honestly, what had Cain expected? An invoice from Jack labeled Airplane Tampering? He was so out of his depth with this. But he knew someone who wouldn’t be.
“Send it to Bas.”
Damon looked over at him and grinned. “Just what I was thinking.”
“We need someone who can look into this and figure out whether these companies are real.”
Damon put the invoices on the desk and snapped pictures with his phone. “I’m copying Drew, too. He’ll understand the legal shit.”
“Definitely.” Cain took a step back. “Is… is this enough? If we can prove these companies don’t exist, and he paid out thousands to them, do you think it would be enough to implicate my father?”
Damon shook his head, looking through the remaining invoices. “I honestly don’t know. It looks damning, but your dad has a whole team of lawyers who’ll jump on this and find a hundred innocent ways to explain it. Maybe he’s just shitty with money, maybe he doesn’t read his bills.”
“You don’t believe that, though.”
“Well, no.” He shrugged. “It’s pretty fucking shady. But we don’t know if it has anything to do with the crash, either. These invoices are all more recent.” He grabbed the sheaf of papers. “If he’s palling around with Russian crime syndicates, these could be for anything. We need to figure out exactly where the money went in order to prove there’s anything criminal on your dad’s end. And I imagine he’s smart enough that it’ll be really hard to find that info.”
Cain drifted toward the window and looked at the rugged mountain profile in the distance. He lifted a hand and rubbed at a knot of tension in his neck.Figures. They’d found just enough to reinforce their own belief that his father was a criminal, but not enough to prove it to anyone else.
“So, what next?” He was afraid he knew exactly what the next step would be — Cain testifying to the authorities about his dad. And he still wasn’t totally sure about that.
Feel better. I love you.
But if he didn’t, what would happen to Damon?
“Cain?”
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
Cain turned to find Damon watching him, ass propped against the desk, hands folded over his chest. “This changes nothing.”
“What?”
“I told you before, I don’t expect you to come forward with information about your father. We’ll find another way.” Damon looked fierce, even against the backdrop of the shiny wood desk and its ultra-modern accessories, a silver-haired warrior prince in a band t-shirt and jeans.
“Yeah, but…”
“There’s nobut. What’s between us is not dependent on you doinganything. There’s no requirement, and I don’t want you to feel like I’ll look at you differently, whichever way you decide. Okay?”
“I hear what you’re saying.” Cain turned back to the window and braced his hand on the glass. “But how can you not, Damon? We’re talking about your life, about getting your identity back! And, okay, let’s say you really don’t care about that,” he continued, holding a hand up when it looked like Damon would interrupt. “Though, I’ve gotta say, I don’t believe it for a second. Let’s say you let Bas and Drew pull strings, and suddenly you’ve got a whole new identity as Dave Fitz-something, a mechanic from Topeka.”
“Topeka?”
“Whatever! The point is, nothing goes away, and you know it. My dad knows you’re alive. He knows who Chelsea and Molly are, and they can’t stay in hiding forever. He’s gotta know who Cort is, too. And I’m guessing he hasn’t gone after Cort because he’s ex-FBI and dating one of the richest guys in Boston, but how long will that last? He went afterLeviFucking Seaver.”
“Cain.”
“No, Damon. I’m being real here. What about Bas and Cam? You think they’re fine knowing the guy who wanted their parents dead is still running around free? You think they’ll be all understanding about my moral dilemma?” He was beyond frustration, near tears. “This shouldn’t be so hard,” he whispered.
“Come here.”
Cain shook his head. He could barely maintain his composure as it was, and he didn’t want Damon’s compassion. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.
“I’m not sure I can live with myself if I let him keep doing the shit he’s been doing.” He dug the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, letting his vision fracture into a hundred tiny kaleidoscope pieces against the back of his eyelids. Broken pieces, just like his thoughts, just like his heart. “Essentially, either way this works, I’m going to feel like shit. I need to man up and do the thing that keeps people safe.”
